


in for a penny, in for a pound(ing)

by meaninglessblah



Series: Gift Fics [22]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Condoms, Consent Issues, Couch Sex, Creampie, Doggy Style, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Guilt, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Manhandling, Manipulation, Naked Male Clothed Male, Prostitution, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self Confidence Issues, Sex Work, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Drinking, Underage Prostitution, Underage Sex, Unhappy Ending, revoked consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: After Bruce kicks him out at seventeen, Dick turns to some unorthodox means to make ends meet. He's sure Slade's not the sort to take advantage of that, right?
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Gift Fics [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960108
Comments: 22
Kudos: 137
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2020





	in for a penny, in for a pound(ing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).



> Credit to everyone on the Kinkmas server for the title suggestion

Dick wishes he could stop fidgeting, could stop his legs jumping and his nail picking at the upholstery of the armchair he’s perched on the edge of. Hopefully Slade won’t notice. Dick’s not sure he could afford to repair it right now. 

Well, maybe he could. With Slade’s very generous deposit bumping his bank balance up to triple digits. 

Dick swallows through a dry throat and pulls his phone out just for something to distract him. It’s cracked and splintered, the screen a mosaic of glass as he thumbs into his banking app. The balance is still the same, minus the bus fare he took to get over to Slade’s neighbourhood. He’s not sure why he keeps expecting it to be gone when he glances at the screen; Slade’s never gone back on his word so far. 

Slick palms smoothing down his thighs, Dick pockets the cell and bows his head. Practicing those breathing exercises Bruce insisted on drilling into him. The ones he hasn’t bothered to touch since the man kicked him to the curb. 

(Well, there was that one time; a Friday night back in March, when Dick had needed to hold his breath for the camera, his throat otherwise filled—) 

Dick resists the urge to groan, lifting his gaze in search of a distraction. Everywhere his blue eyes settle, there’s a framed photograph of Slade and his boys, and even some with his wife. Dick swallows down nauseous guilt and hopes, once again, that Slade’s just awfully sentimental about an ex-wife and not currently paying a teenager to commit adultery. He doesn’t think he could stomach destroying a family like that, even if he needs the money to survive. 

Not for the first time, Dick wonders how the hell things escalated to him sitting impatiently in a man’s lounge room, waiting to be called in for the fuck he promised to give. Bought and bartered and sold his body for the promise of a neat thousand. 

He tells himself, like he’s told himself every time before: he has rent to pay, groceries to buy. If being booted out from under Bruce’s roof has been good for one thing, it’s been to educate Dick on just how reliant he was on Bruce’s dime. 

He’d been seriously spoiled, he’s realised. Four walls and a roof cost far more than he anticipated, even in a city like Gotham, and that’s before utilities factor in. Dick had burned through several Gotham neighbourhoods’ worth of rental applications before he’d considered Bludhaven. 

His studio apartment now consists of exactly four walls and a (mostly intact) roof. The wifi is decent, and that had been the only boon to the whole place. A solid internet connection had kept Dick fed in ramen for the first few weeks while he scrounged up enough cash to meet his next month’s rent. 

No one had wanted to hire him. Dick had tried _everywhere._ And even those places willing to ignore his age hadn’t wanted to overlook his supreme lack of employment history, or the clout that came with being Bruce Wayne’s former ward. It leaves a bitter taste on the back of Dick’s tongue to remember how he’d been laughed out of his first few applications, the shadow of Bruce’s name hanging over him. Jeers about his secret multi-million dollar trust fund chasing on his heels. 

There was no trust fund. And even if there was one, it was well and truly dissolved after the circumstances Dick had exited under. 

Dick was, for the first time in his life, well and truly alone. 

He’d only survived his first month on his own by skimming some cash out of a former safehouse in the Bowery. Just a few hundred to get him into an apartment. And a hundred more in bribes to get the housing manager to look the other way on his nonexistent credit score. 

Dick swore he’d pay it back once he was liquid. He didn’t want a single shred of charity Bruce could lord over him. But even he knew pragmatism was necessary for self-preservation. 

So he’d taken the money, and had been tallying his debt ever since. He’s not even sure Bruce has noticed the cash is missing yet. Dick hopes not; if he can slip it back in without Bruce ever getting wind of his desperation, he’d like to keep the high moral ground. There’s just not much that slips past the Bat. 

Which was reason number two that he’d migrated to Bludhaven. The brickwork facades might be cracked, and the street crime a few degrees above petty muggings, but the city was blessedly free of the Bat’s ever-imposing shadow. Dick would pay out the nose for that. 

Even if it meant eating ramen and tea on the only piece of furniture in his entire one-room apartment, worrying that the electricity was going to cut out at any moment. He’d had a laptop he’d taken with his departure, so he had entertainment. And more importantly, a webcam. 

Dick was a smart kid. Even when all of Gotham’s elite liked to think of him as little more than a pretty face, Dick had always cultivated intellect. Both for his own personal gain, and for his night job with Bruce. It took more than just booksmarts to crack the cases Dick had been blowing wide open at twelve. 

But remembering the pinches to his cheeks at the hundredth mandatory gala, and the enamoured coos about what a handsome ladykiller he’d grow up to be had proved useful for something. It had reminded Dick that he was, miraculously, blessedly, gifted in the looks department. 

He’d won out on the lottery of life, or so they’d say. Dick doesn’t think that statement really counts when he’s still waking from nightmares of falling to his death while his peers are fretting over acne. Or sitting out yet another English exam in his second language because Clayface had snapped his ribs like twigs last week during a warehouse bust. 

His grades certainly wouldn’t reflect it, but Dick knows he’s smart. More than people give him credit for. It takes careful preparation to climb up on a trapeze night after night. People might mistake their grace as magic, as luck - but Dick’s lived the life, lived behind the scenes, and he knows exactly how much meticulous planning it takes to rig up a trapeze, to plot the routine and ensure your partner’s life is never, not for even a second, hanging in the balance. 

He might _look_ like he leaps before thinking, but Dick Grayson, international aerial superstar, has never once in his life made a leap entirely on faith. Out of anger, out of rashness, perhaps. But even then, he’d weighed the risks and rewards before stepping off that ledge. 

He’s a planner, just as much as Bruce is. And he never goes into anything with half his heart. 

So, sipping the dregs of his ramen from a chipped coffee mug in the fading afternoon light, abruptly emancipated from his parental guardian of over a decade, Dick had sat on his unmade bed and googled camboying. 

It’d felt stupid. A small part of him had questioned if he’d really stoop so low as to offer his body to strangers for a few bucks. But the far more logical, pragmatic part of his brain had reminded him that he had thirty bucks to his name and a grocery run to make tomorrow. 

Dick had to eat. And he had all the equipment he needed to get started. 

He hadn’t gone at it half-hearted. He’d researched into promotions and marketing. Lighting and staging. How to make his naturally appealing body look downright delectable under the right conditions. 

The last of his patrol bruises had faded by the time Dick set up his Onlyfans account. He’d spent a week trawling through all the top content creators, scribbling down notes on what hooked fans so he could emulate the behaviour. 

Then he’d padded into his bathroom, stripping off his shirt, and filled his camera roll with a plethora of magnanimous shots of his chest. Nudging the waistline of his tight athletic pants lower and lower until they were practically falling off his hips. 

His _boy_plunder98_ profile had racked up thirty subscriptions in the first week. He’d hit the upcoming creators front page within the month. By month two, he’d been uploading selfies nearly daily and streaming twice weekly. 

Which was when _sjw_dickstroke_ had shown up in his DMs, offering him two hundred for a private show. 

Dick had been gobsmacked. Two hundred to jack off on camera, for the exclusive viewing pleasure of a faceless screen name? 

That sort of money would pay for his food for a month, if he stretched it. Or a few toys to change up his growing collection. Whatever he needed to further his online persona. 

The face had come later, and it belonged to a man Dick knew only as Slade. Dick never showed his own face on camera. He’d set that rule early on; on the few occasions he’d needed to show a close up, he’d worn a mask. 

His patrons liked the intrigue, liked the mystery. Slade liked the exclusivity. 

The man struck Dick as possessive from early on, monopolising on his screen time with the promise of upfront payment. He’d shouldered all his other fans aside with ease, and Dick had been more than happy to accept the push notifications for private sessions. It was an easy night when he could make two hundred just by fucking himself on a toy of Slade’s liking, or fingering himself in the lace panties Slade mailed him. 

Dick had been growing to enjoy the regularity of it. 

And then Slade had messaged him with an offer that had made Dick’s heart lurch in his chest. 

Two grand, and the address to a townhouse on the north side of Bludhaven. The offer was one-time only, and time sensitive. Dick stared at the words until they blurred on the screen. 

He’d taken a day to respond to the man, but Slade had given him two to think it over. He was generous like that, and in the part of his brain that wasn’t strangled by moral quandary, Dick had been grateful. 

Slade had been more than good to him. Sending him gifts, never asking more than Dick was comfortable with. He’d made for good company too, his comments more insightful than some of the lewd drivel that littered Dick’s profile. 

Not that he wasn’t grateful for the attention, but Slade left an impression unlike any other patron. More than once, Dick had found himself imagining a face behind the screen name, a personality behind the words. 

He’d said yes. Of course he’d said yes. He was a near-broke seventeen-year-old trying to make ends meet, and Slade was offering him up an opportunity on a silver platter. 

Now that he’s actually sitting in the front room of the man’s townhouse, thumbing the belt loops on his pants while he waits for Slade to finish freshening up in the bathroom down the hall, Dick’s cold feet have finally caught up with him. 

But he said yes, so that must count for something. He’s just spooked, that’s all. It’s a new experience, sleeping with a stranger. Sleeping with a stranger for money. He’s bound to have some nerves. That doesn’t make the decision a mistake. 

Dick breathes deep through his nose and tries not to jump when Slade steps back into the carpeted room. 

“Comfortable?” he asks as he crosses to the sideboard, fingers twining around the neck of an amber bottle. 

Dick flashes him one of his signature smiles and nods. “Yes, very, thank you.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Slade comments. He’s not exactly what Dick pictured his anonymous suitor would look like. Tall, and a rugged sort of handsome that Dick can get behind. The eyepatch had been a bit of a shock, but Dick supposes that’s par for the course with online strangers. Built like some of the heroes Dick had run around with as a kid, and that unbidden parallel has the blood heating in his veins. 

He’s not unattractive. Dick can admit that much. The sweep of stark hair and the white bristles lining his chin don’t detract from that, but Dick will analyse that particular aspect when his head feels more connected to his shoulders. 

Slade presses two fingers of whiskey into his palm, and Dick’s just opening his mouth to remind the man that he’s seventeen when he shuts it. Remembers there’s no _reminding,_ when he never actually disclosed his age online. He’d nudged it up a year when setting up his _boy_plunder98_ account, just for propriety, but that wasn’t available on his public profile, so how could he expect Slade to know? 

Bringing the glass to his lips to take a shallow sip, Dick thinks on the implications of Slade handing him a drink. He must think he looks at least twenty-one, right? 

That, or he’s more than comfortable plying an underage teen with alcohol to loosen him up. 

The thought brings with it a wash of unease, so Dick shoves it to the very back of his mind and winces through a swallow. Slade is, luckily, distracted with settling on the couch adjacent Dick’s armchair, so he doesn’t see him flinch at the burn or the distaste. 

It’s not the first time Dick’s tried alcohol. Throw five teen vigilantes in a tower with minimal adult supervision, and they’ll run laps around socially upstanding behaviour for youths. 

This is the first time he’s drunk alcohol in the presence of an all-things-considered stranger, in a strange house, under the pretences of coming here for what is essentially sex work, though. 

It’s not Dick’s first time in that other department either. He’d had enough fumbling encounters with other kids from his school behind bleachers and in the back of cars, sweating over being caught out by truant officers, to head into his Titans days with a modicum of experience. 

But even that history was brief, and he’s certainly never fooled around with someone this much older than him. And Slade is much, _much_ older than he is. Nearly thrice his age, by Dick’s estimate, and he winces at the thought that he’s about to spread his legs for a man who could be his father. 

Bruce’s name dances on the back of his tongue at that realisation, so Dick burns it away with another swig of whiskey. This one goes down easier, so he throws back another under Slade’s steady gaze. 

“Feeling a bit more relaxed?” he asks softly. Dick admires his levelness, the casual disposition he affects, when Dick feels like he’s rattling apart from nerves over here. 

His answering nod feels like a lie, but it curls the corner of Slade’s lips enough to ease some of the tightness in Dick’s chest. Maybe he doesn’t come across as anxious as he seems. If that’s true, maybe he can bring himself to approach this with a farce of professionalism, like it’s not his first time being paid for sex. 

Slade hooks an arm over the back of the lounge, drawing Dick’s curious eye down the ridge of those biceps, the control of the wrist he flicks in Dick’s direction. “You received my deposit? No issues with the bank?” 

The mention of the money nudges his discomfort up a notch, but Dick reminds himself that professionals deal in transactions like this every session. And he’s a professional sex worker now, right? Or at least, on his path to becoming one? 

That was his intention, Dick tells himself, and flashes Slade a smile. “No issues whatsoever,” he confirms, and then, because it seems polite, adds, “Thank you.” 

Slade’s smile doesn’t waver, his eye sparkling as he watches Dick over the rim of his half-drunk glass. “My pleasure.” 

Then he shuffles to the edge of the cushion to gently pry Dick’s empty tumbler out from between his fingers, setting it on the low table and settling back into his sprawl as Dick watches on. 

“Why don’t you come sit by me, hmm?” 

He can’t pretend to ignore the way his stomach flips and jams up behind his lungs at that suggestion. It’s happening, he tells himself, actually happening. 

This is what we wanted, he reminds himself as he pushes to his feet. Dick flexes his empty fingers as he crosses around Slade’s legs, trying not to glance between his spread knees. He won’t be able to gauge until the man’s naked anyway; no point letting his imagination run wild when Dick doesn’t even know what he’s working with. 

The lounge dips beneath his weight when he sits down next to Slade. It feels stiff, feels unnatural, so Dick rearranges himself to tuck against the larger man’s long side, head resting on the join of his open shoulder. 

Slade hums approvingly at that, so Dick releases the breath he’d been holding. Slade sets his own glass aside after another sip, tipping those cool fingers underneath Dick’s chin to lift his gaze up. 

There’s a simmering hunger in that bright, ice blue eye, and Dick feels his veins heat beneath the weight of his stare. He’s not sure if it’s an arousal of his own, or just the sensation of being hunted that makes his pulse thud between his ears. 

Those fingers shift, pads brushing over Dick’s slightly parted lips as he admires the teen’s face. There’s a pace to Slade that Dick envies, an ease to his movements that speaks to familiarity and experience. Dick absently wonders just how many partners Slade has had. 

It’s a stupid thought, one that brings a flush to his cheeks. Slade’s probably slept with plenty of people, Dick chastises. His age alone implies he’s got leagues on Dick. Even before he accounts for the fact that the man doesn’t seem to have a single qualm about paying to get whatever sex he pleases. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It doesn’t make a difference. He’s here, isn’t he? 

Slade’s thumb is calloused when it tugs at the corner of his mouth, forefinger crooking under his jaw to tilt Dick up into a kiss. It’s soft, almost sweetheart-like. So much so that Dick feels his stomach tingle with nerves at the brush of the older man’s lips. 

The room is silent, the wet sound of their mouths the only sound. It fills the space, dripping heat down Dick’s spine as Slade’s palm slides into the small of his back. He’s turned against the man’s bulk, one hand wrapping over Slade’s knee as the kiss deepens. 

It’s forceful and ferocious, and nothing like any sloppy makeout session Dick’s indulged before. There’s a purpose to the way Slade fucks his tongue into Dick’s mouth, demanding and taking all at once. It leaves him breathless, leaves him clawing at Slade’s shoulder for purchase until the man pulls back. 

Dick feels flushed in the absence, skin hot to the touch as Slade’s coarse palm curls over the side of his neck. His lips trail over Dick’s cheekbone, breath warm on the shell of his ear. 

“What did you have in mind?” Slade murmurs, chasing a shiver down Dick’s throat. 

Dick thinks his hands might be shaking. His stomach feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out, put on the spot. He finds his voice through miracle. “Uh, I don’t- I didn’t really think ahead.” And then, thinking on it a moment more, Dick blurts, “Do you have a condom?” 

It feels like an imposition to ask, when he’s supposed to be the professional here. Dick’s nonetheless grateful when Slade nods, fingers dipping into his jeans pocket to flash the silver foil packet nestled there before tucking it away. 

The relief that tingles through him is short-lived, swamped by Dick’s fumbling apprehension when he asks, “Is there… is there something specific you wanted to do to me?” 

Slade smirks, pulling back, but Dick can’t tell if it’s malicious or just amused. “How about I take the lead?” he asks, instead of answering that. 

That’s probably for the better. It’s not that Dick won’t admit that he has no clue to do, he’s just not sure how to casually ask a stranger which ways they want to fuck him. And honestly, if he’s being kind to himself, he likes the illusion the silence provides. Clings to the tiny white lie that he’s as much in control here as Slade has already proven he is. Can almost pretend it’s something genuinely intimate, something reciprocated. 

Dick nods, short and stilted. Slade smiles, bending down to bite across his lips before he tugs Dick into his lap. It startles him, a moment of fumbling lost when Dick tries to settle himself over the man’s broad thighs. Slade doesn’t close his legs, doesn’t demonstrate any intention to make this easier as Dick’s knees dig into the cushion and his hands go to Slade’s broad chest. 

The hand in the small of his back slides down to knead his ass, and Dick lowers himself gingerly onto Slade’s thighs, spread open around his abdomen as the man leans down to claim his mouth again. 

There’s a possessiveness to the way he pours himself into Dick’s mouth, fingers sliding over his scalp as he cups the back of Dick’s head, holds him prone. Dick’s more than a little startled by how much he gives, how much he allows Slade to do, to manhandle him around without complaint. 

His stubbornness and his backbone had been one of the things Bruce had always been on his case about, had been one of the primary reasons their last interaction had dissolved into a screaming match, actually. 

But trapped against Slade’s body, held tight beneath his hands, Dick’s tenacity melts. He lets the older man guide him, tilt his head back to lick over his teeth, to bite over his lips as that hand gropes at him. 

Before long, Dick’s half-hard, and he can feel Slade’s own length when he grinds down against his lap. The motion draws Slade’s attention, has him pulling off Dick’s searching lips with a thick exhale. 

“How about you start on your knees, little bird?” Slade murmurs between them, and Dick swallows the words down with his next inhale. He tries to ignore the sinking of his stomach as he shuffles off Slade’s thighs and down between his knees. The hand on his head guides him down, shifting to his crown when Dick settles on the carpet. 

Eye-to-eye with the man’s swelling crotch, it sort of hits him then, that this is the point of no return. He’s about to take a stranger into his mouth, for a thousand bucks. After he crosses this line, Dick’s committed. 

His hands shake when he pops the button on Slade’s jeans, eases down the zipper before peeling back the denim. Dick mouths up the line of his stirring length, if only to stall while he centres himself. Reels in his racing mind as Slade's heat bleeds through the thin cotton onto his lips when Dick presses a kiss to the clothed head. 

The spin of his skull doesn’t alleviate by the time Dick’s graduated to rolling the man’s briefs down his thick thighs. His fingers pad over the join of Slade’s hips, fretting over denim until he forces them to still on the man’s huge knees. 

He’s proportionate, Dick tells himself. Nothing surprising at that. 

The cock that juts out from the curl of short white hair at the base of Slade’s abdomen is formidable, but Dick shoves the thought from his mind when Slade coaxes him in with the palm on the back of his head. Probably growing tired of Dick staring dumbfoundedly at his cock. 

Dick’s tongue dips out to lap at the man’s flushed skin when his lips touch Slade, rolling his mouth down the side. Teasing him as Slade sighs and settles deeper into the couch to push his cock closer to Dick’s face. 

When the grip in his hair becomes more persistent, Dick swallows down his trepidation and takes the head of the man’s cock into his mouth. 

He’s done this sort of thing before. Even considers himself fairly skilled at it, if his partners’ previous comments hold any stock. Dick works his way down slowly, taking more and more with every bob of his head. Adjusting to Slade’s girth as the man rocks up steadily into Dick’s mouth. 

Dick’s casting his mind back to the last few intimate moments he’d spent in Titans Tower, confidence building as he runs his swollen lips down Slade’s length, when the man plants his heels and sures his grip in Dick’s hair. He has a moment of curiosity, before that’s erased by sputtering shock when Slade jams his cock into the back of Dick’s throat. 

He chokes, expectedly, hands jumping up to brace on his thighs when Slade lets him pull back far enough to drag a breath. He waits long enough for Dick to swallow - too stunned to be offended at being used like a toy - and open his mouth, before he’s shoving Dick down again. 

It’s harsh, every slide of his thick cock into Dick’s throat triggering the urge to gag. He winces and shuffles higher on his knees, trying alleviate the discomfort. Slade only uses the new leverage to his advantage, slamming Dick’s face down hard around his cock, until his lips are stringing with spit. 

He grips the man’s jeans tight, flattens his tongue and tries to loosen his jaw. Eases the slide as much as he can with Slade’s cock filling his mouth on every fall. 

Dick’s almost settled into the rhythm of it, when Slade stills and pushes _down_ when he reaches his limit. Dick’s eyes blow wide, thin tears spilling over when Slade grinds him down to the base. He keeps going, until Dick’s nose is tickled by the curls at Slade’s root, and he can’t breathe around the weight of the man’s cock in his throat. 

He tries to relax, tries to scramble for a mental foothold as his lungs protest, chest burning from the pressure. The appealing whine he tries to level at Slade is too muffled by his cock to be heard. It’s only once Dick’s eyes start to roll from the sensation that Slade yanks him back off his cock. 

He sucks in a deep breath, lungs inflating gratefully, spit ricocheting down his windpipe at the drag. Dick coughs and swallows the excess, panting hard as he tries to level out, tries to prepare for when Slade inevitably shoves him down again. 

Dick’s better prepared this time, even managing to grind his tongue weakly against the underside of Slade’s cock, to lick kittenishly at the man’s balls as he counts his breaths out. His jaw is starting to ache when Slade pulls him off a final time, lifting a thumb to swipe the spit from Dick’s chin. 

He feels dishevelled, feels a mess, when Slade sets him back into a sit and lets him recover from the rough treatment. Dick can’t help but feel grateful for the consideration, lifting a wrist to clean what he can from his face. His lungs applaud the reprieve. 

It’s short lived. Slade pushes to his feet once Dick’s seemed to have gathered his senses, dipping a hand into his pocket as he rises. 

Dick watches him retrieve a small bottle of lube and the condom, setting both on the low table before he offers Dick his large, warm palm. He takes it, letting Slade tug him up to his feet. 

The man doesn’t hesitate, hands immediately wrapping under the edge of his shirt and peeling it off his head before Dick can so much as volunteer. It feels rough, his own nakedness debilitating next to Slade’s clothed form. Dick has the absurd urge to tuck his arms against his chest, preserve what remains of his dignity as Slade tosses the blue t-shirt onto the couch and sets to work on his pants. 

Dick takes the lead when Slade peels them off his hips, taking the material from his palms to bend and tug them the rest of the way down. Wrestles back a shred of control from a man who seems intent on unravelling all of Dick’s threads. He kicks the dark clothing onto the couch, along with his underwear, and straightens for Slade’s purview. 

That icy eye slices down the front of him, lingering on his rousing cock before Slade’s hands go to his hips, admiring the ripple of his tanned skin beneath those huge palms. Dick does his best to stand steady, to keep his chin up. To radiate the confidence he felt going into this, and shove down the panic that flares now. 

When Slade nudges him onto the couch - more a shove than a suggestion - Dick climbs to his knees and wraps a hand over the back cushions, twisting to settle his chest against the upholstery. It’s only Slade’s warning hand on the inside of his thigh that stops him, drawing a frown from Dick’s features and a question to his lips. 

Slade answers it before he can voice it, gripping his hip to turn him back to face him. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, little bird. But I want to look at those pretty eyes when I finger you open for my cock.” 

The words make Dick’s gut clench, snap his gaze down to the bobbing length of that slicked cock. It’s got to be nearly as thick as Dick’s wrist. He knows he’s exaggerating, but right then, faced with the enormity of what he’s about to do, Dick feels incredibly small. 

But he acquiesces to Slade’s request with a curt nod, leaning his back against the cushions and hooking his elbows back to present himself. Spreads his legs a little wider when Slade’s wandering grip nudges past his balls and rubs up against his rim. 

Dick bites back the protest that swims up his tongue. He wants this, he asked for it. Slade _paid_ for it. And Dick needs that money more than anything. He _wants_ this. 

Slade’s fingers withdraw, reaching back for the lube as Dick breathes deep and steadies himself on his knees. His toes dig into the space between the couch and the cushions, curling when that cold wet circles his hole again. 

As expected, Slade’s more than happy to orchestrate the proceedings, easing Dick’s thighs further apart with his dry, coarse palm, until Dick feels exposed, at the man’s mercy. The finger that slides into his bared hole makes Dick draw in a sharp breath, makes his lids flutter. 

If he notices the reaction, it doesn’t stop Slade from fucking the digit into him slowly, working him open with patient expectation. Dick does his best to focus on the feeling, on the slick slide, on loosening around Slade’s persistence. All too soon, a second digit is slipping into him, and then a third. 

Dick nearly feels like he ought to ask for a fourth, gaze drawn to the sight of Slade’s still-hard length standing to attention between them, nudging Dick’s bare abdomen on every other thrust of the larger man’s wrist. He can’t bring himself to meet the gaze he can feel tracing over every inch of his bared skin, scared at what Slade will see in his own blue eyes if he gives him the chance. He’s nearly worked up enough courage to ask for another finger, finally settling into the rhythm of the digits fucking into him. But then Slade’s withdrawing and the moment for accommodations has passed. 

There’s a smirk on Slade’s lips when Dick meets that piercing gaze, one that draws all his muscles tight on an empty clench. “Alright, little bird. You can turn around now.” 

Dick nearly murmurs a thank you. Manages to curb it in a hasty swallow as he twists on his knees to bend himself over the back of the couch, gripping the cushions with white-knuckled apprehension. 

For an absurd moment, Dick reminisces on how he’d assumed they’d move this to a bed. He’s struck by his own naivety, how he could be stupid enough to think this wasn’t how these encounters usually go. His blind surprise at finding himself bent over a stranger’s couch, expecting something more tender, more intimate. Dick chastises himself for assuming Slade would want to invite a whore into his matrimonial bed, that the man would extend the courtesy to the teenager he paid for a quick fuck. 

He can hear Slade moving around behind him, hear the tear of a condom foil, and closes his eyes. Steels himself with the reminder that he’s come this far; he can go a little farther. In for a penny, in for a pound. 

Dick feels when Slade steps up to the couch, the furniture rocking slightly when his shins bump up against it. He grips the back and tries to roll the tension out of his shoulders. Jumps at the first wrap of Slade’s hand over his hip. 

The nudge of his cock against Dick’s hole is wet and hot, slicked by lube as it presses forward. The condom must be thinner than he thought, or just especially lubed, because it doesn’t even catch as it pushes past Dick’s rim with inexorable determination. Dick feels like his lungs are squeezing up through the tight vice of his throat, and hysteria grips him, emotion overborne by the touch of Slade against him. 

“Wait,” he bleats, reaching back to fumble for the man’s wrist. “Wait, I need to-” 

Slade doesn’t halt, feeding his cock into Dick’s pinned hole as he squirms and tries to turn. The hand on his hip is bruising, is immovable, and panic grips Dick tight. 

“ _Wait,_ Slade, please, I just want to-” 

“What is it, little bird?” Slade asks gruffly, concentration focused on the head of the cock slowly breaching Dick. He feels like he’s being pried open, knees weak around the inexorable push. 

The fingers he has wrapped around Slade’s wrist begin to shake, but Dick, with all his flexibility, can’t manage to turn around and face him. “Slade, it hurts, I can’t do it, I’m sorry, just let me-” 

Slade huffs, the agitation evident, and then the hand is breaking free of Dick’s grip, is lifting from his hip to splay between his pinched shoulder blades and pin him to the cushions. Dick chokes, a bleat of surprise morphing into a cacophonous shout when Slade thrusts in. 

It takes a few moments for the static to fade from Dick’s head, for him to take stock of the cock seated inside him. To acknowledge that he can, actually, breathe around the length splitting him in half, and that he should be breathing more. 

He’s barely managed to draw in a tremulous breath before Slade pulls out and slams back in, punching what meagre air Dick’s managed to draw out of his recovering lungs. 

It doesn’t slow from there. Slade sets up a brutal pace, gripping Dick’s thighs to yank him back down onto his cock when Dick fails to produce the necessary enthusiasm to grind back against him. His chest chafes against the cushions, his sweaty grip slipping as Dick tries to hold his head up and take the brutal fucking. 

It becomes more manageable once Dick actually focuses on the slick slide of Slade’s cock inside him. Once he remembers to relax his muscles and let Slade move him as he pleases. 

He’s belatedly grateful for the position, for the chance to bury his watering eyes where Slade can’t mock him for it. Even though every thrust feels like it’s shoving Slade’s cock up into the back of his throat, overwhelming and unforgiving as Slade uses him. 

There isn’t a hint of tenderness to the way Slade rolls Dick’s ass back onto his cock, grinding against him with every thrust. It sets Dick’s nerves alight, every slide scraping his prostate, never enough pressure to grant him true pleasure as he squirms and bears it. Arches his back in an effort to coax Slade into a more magnanimous angle. 

He feels Slade shift slightly, feels his weight settle over Dick’s back. He’s distracted in the next moment by a hand that slides under him, thumb rolling over a sensitive nipple that has Dick rocking back and gasping in unison. Then teeth close on the meat of Dick’s shoulder, sinking deep enough to draw a yelp from his lips. 

He swims in the shock for a moment, long enough for Slade to move slightly further up his neck and bite again, before Dick comes back to himself. 

The teen reaches back with a gasp to shove the man off his shoulder. “Slade, stop, I-” 

“You didn’t say anything about excluding biting or marks, little bird,” Slade says with a chastising frown, and Dick’s stomach plummets at the reminder. There’s a disappointed glint to Slade’s eye that bails Dick’s lungs up in his throat. “You’re not going to change the terms after we’ve already started, are you?” 

“Nn… no,” Dick concedes reluctantly, and the vice loosens a little at Slade’s pleased smile. He celebrates the small victory by lathering a mark over Dick’s other shoulder with enough bite that Dick winces. 

All he can think about is how it’s going to bruise, how he won’t be able to do his weekly shirtless upload on his profile. Maybe Slade’s payout will be enough that he won’t need to, he considers tentatively. 

Dick feels his gut sink quickly in the aftermath, disgusted at the thought that this is what his life has amounted to. That he’d care more about serving his fans than his own boundaries. 

He’s still churning through the guilty dread when he feels Slade’s palm close around his cock. The callouses are coarse, a foreign sensation that curls Dick’s toes. He rocks forward into that grip, letting Slade roll him back onto his cock on the downstroke. 

It’s a heady rhythm, fast and rough as Slade slams him forward into the couch back. Dick clings to the cushions and tries not to let his knees slip too far, panting harshly. There’s a detached passion to the man’s ferocious strokes, the tempo much too quick for Dick to hope to catch up. He settles as best he can, clenching when Slade thumbs the head of his cock, grinding into the slit to have Dick arching. 

He can feel the familiar approach of his orgasm coiling in his gut, is sure Slade must be getting close too. Dick’s breathlessly relieved. The sooner Slade can finish, the soon he can excuse himself to the bathroom to tidy up and be on his way. Not that he doesn’t enjoy the man’s company, but Dick doesn’t think he can bring himself to engage in small talk with a man who feels like he’s currently jamming Dick’s guts up in his throat. 

One of those huge hands rises to layer over Dick’s mid-back, easing him into a deeper arch that Dick compliments with a high whine, doing his best to fuck back onto the larger man’s cock as he’s bounced forward into the couch. Slade holds him steady, yanks him deep into his lap when he grinds up against his ass and comes. 

There’s a moment, as Slade buries to the hilt, where Dick’s stomach curls with something that’s almost pleasure. Nearly manages to lose himself in the friction of Slade’s palm around his cock and the slide of the man inside him, bracing to leap over that final ledge into the rush of pleasure. 

It’s stolen by the seep of warmth inside him, too deep and too slick to be mistaken as anything other than Slade’s cum as the man groans and empties into Dick. It’s another stunned moment before Slade begins to pull out, and then the squelch is unmistakable, the drip of liquid down his taint damning. 

Dick topples over his orgasm, forehead falling to the couch with a cry that’s equal parts desperation and dismay. He rocks feebly into Slade’s unrelenting grip, spine curling with the wave that washes over him, drowning all emotion from him in a glorious, finite moment. 

When reality comes rushing back into the vacuum, it’s with cold carelessness and malicious clarity. Dick stays leaned on the back of the couch, panting through the last of the tremors as Slade pulls out and pulls away, rearranging himself in his clothes as he straightens. 

His hand returns after a moment though - the one that Dick had so thoughtlessly come all over - to drag two crooked fingers through the fluid leaking down his backside. Mingling their cum together as Dick swallows through his mortification and keeps his eyes squeezed shut. 

Slade wipes his ruined palms on the insides of Dick’s thighs, stepping away once they’re clean to reach for Dick’s discarded clothes. He glances down between his legs, groping gently to assess the damage, and feels his stomach shrivel at the sight of the condom, unused, on the low table. 

Throat tight with tears he refuses to give credence to, Dick lets Slade ease him upright, back protesting the strain when Slade steadies him on his knees. He can’t help but lean into the man, tugging on his pants in a daze as Slade helps him rearrange himself into something passably decent. It doesn’t reduce the limp he staggers through when he steps off the couch, or the wash of dejection that floods his system when he gathers up his phone and sparse belongings, thoughts only on the door on the other side of the room. 

“The rest of your money will appear in your account by tomorrow morning,” Slade promises him, tone undeservedly calm as Dick summons the nerve to look him in the eye. Can only manage it long enough to see the simmering burn of sated arousal before it’s dropping to the glass Slade lifts to his lips. 

Dick just nods, feeling oddly disconnected from the pain radiating through the core of him. Belatedly, he realises he’s not wearing his underwear, can’t place where he lost them in the rush to be dressed, and decides he doesn’t have the energy to bother. Let Slade’s wife find them, for all he cares. It’s a memento he’d rather be without. 

Slade’s gaze follows him unnervingly as he beelines for the door, cell slipping from his slack, sweaty grip. The cum drying between his thighs tugs at his pants when he bends down to retrieve it, drawing a bitten-down hiss from Dick’s throat as he straightens hurriedly. 

“I’d be more than happy to host you again, little bird,” Slade reminds him gently, the words broken only by the sip of whiskey when Dick hesitates, hand on the doorknob. “If you ever need the money, you know how to contact me. Maybe next month,” he adds coolly, before Dick can summon even the hint of a disparaging refusal, “when your rent’s due. I’d be happy to help you move into a nicer apartment. I always take care of my things.” 

The knob shakes beneath his slick grip, and it takes a few jerking turns before Dick manages to open it, slipping through the gap and slamming it shut behind him. His bus comes in five minutes, and Dick doesn’t think he can stomach limping back to his apartment with the reminder of his mistake dripping between his thighs. He can only stand to be let down so many times in one day. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm uninventive with usernames, I know. 
> 
> This is your friendly reminder, in spite of the themes of this fic, to respect sex workers.
> 
> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


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